Those nights when you are waxed, smoothed, oiled, tanned, glowing, boobs are in alignment and your underpants are matching. Not just matching, but they snap and fit perfectly, no lines, no bulges... you actually look like a burlesque performer, right before the last scene when she does something with a harmonica and a feather.
That's the night you thump in the door, crash without taking off makeup and sleep face down so both pillow and your face resemble a used tissue.
The next time you go out you're like a bank that just lost it's Triple A credit rating. A little less shiny & some corners need to be cut. It's jeans not a dress, it's comfort shoes not stilettos' and it's the reliable undies and bra. The kind that was not made to match. The bra is from the t-shirt range, comfortable, no wires and doesn't make you sit so upright. The undies came in a pack & you bought them, not only for the hygienic cotton element but the fun retro pattern.
That's the night you are less witty, more humble, less hair-flicking, as it's tied like a sideways sitting pony & your makeup is basic. No magic concealers, bronzer or make up primer. Just a slap of this and that.
Getting all dressed up seems like too much of an effort. More fun to sit back and watch others try their hardest. You take a position on the couch or table, and let others do the manoeuvring, you just sit and chat normally. Then a strange thing happens. You become the centre of the night. By sitting still you are the home base, the place of retreat from the hectic mating dance.
Conversations develop, jokes become intertwined with the evenings activities and you don't' care about bad lighting or elbows on the table. It becomes slightly conspiratorial as you spend more time with the witty boys and not the pretty boys.
Out of the laughter and confessional conversation your prime light is ignited. Witty Boy no. 2 goes home and Witty Boy no.1 stays on. Body heat increases along with alcohol consumption, but it's not a race, it's a prop. It keeps you sitting there longer, only when both glasses are empty will you break the seal and go home. Pretty Girl No. 1 breaks that moment for you. She's exhausted herself flirting and her feet hurt. She sits down with you & tries to talk. You get her a glass of water and she's asleep on the couch by the time you return. Witty Boy no 1 adjusts her dress as she sleeps: an exposed drunk girl is no porn for anyone.
Lights on, the pub is closing. Just when you can smell his skin and see the lashes on his lower lids. Your eyes look at him in pieces. Top lip, bottom lip, jaw, ears, hair line, lashes and then down to his neck and chest. Strangely you can have an excellent conversation about American politics at the same time as this eye fondle.
Drunk girl is awake and searching for all her accessories - phone, bag, lipstick and left shoe. Which she was sitting on. We help her into a cab are we are now alone, on the footpath with the night air snapping our thoughts into some decision making. That's when you realise you are wearing the wrong underwear. No matter, he's wearing a very tatty t shirt and jeans. His will be worse.
note: reverse underpants theory also works with 'got my period' and 'my legs are hairy'
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2 years ago